


Backup

by Onehelluvapilot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Lancelot (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Lancelot was a mercenary, references to trauma, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: When Lancelot is injured during an ambush by bandits on what was supposed to be a routine patrol, he conceals the wound from his friends. Why he does so isn't exactly clear at first, to himself or the others, but the consequences of it soon will be.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haha do I write anything except Lancelot whump these days

There was no time to shout out a warning to Leon, so Lancelot did the only thing he could think of and stepped in front of the prince. By all rights that shouldn't have been a natural instinct; he thought he'd spent so long as a mercenary that the only thing he put his life on the line for was money. After returning to Camelot, though, the list of people he cared for as much as himself had grown from Gwen and Merlin to include Arthur and all of the knights. Which was why he didn't regret his decision even when he felt the sharp bite of a blade into his flesh. Better his side than Leon's back. The sound of his cry was masked by that of the bandit, who was quickly dispatched with a sword through the stomach.

"Uh, Arthur?" A very nervous sounding Merlin called above the racket.

"Not  _ now _ , Merlin," the prince shouted back.

"Arthur, they have backup!"

Lancelot looked up along with the rest of the knights to see a veritable army of bandits running towards them. He turned to Arthur, watched the warring emotions on his face before quickly coming to a steel-jawed decision.

"Retreat!" He called. The knights wheeled towards their mounts, war horses that hadn't run off in the pressure of battle. Lance struggled into the saddle but rode off with the best of them. They drove their horses hard, bandits on their tail, some with crossbows.

"How do you think they knew you were gonna be out on patrol, Princess?" Gwaine asked. That was the only reason so many outlaws would get together within a day's ride from the palace. The prospect of a spy within the castle, while it wouldn't be a new problem, was enough to quiet all of them when combined with being out of breath from the fight and the hard riding. Lance forced deep breaths into his chest; now was not the time to be passing out from the pain of what probably wasn't a fatal wound. They had to get Arthur back to the castle before dark, and accordingly couldn't stop for several hours yet. Bringing his hand to his wounded side, he evaluated his condition as well as he could on horseback. The difficulty breathing was simply from the pain, which would soften if he ignored it, and the amount of blood he had lost was not devastating. He could make it.

They soon slowed from a gallop to canter when they were sure they'd left the bandits behind, and then down to a trot. The horses could maintain that all the way back to the castle. Lance welcomed the change, as the slower pace sent fewer jolts shooting through his wounded side. Turning somewhat painfully to look behind him, he saw Merlin breathe a similar sigh of relief. The servant was good with animals but was also the least experienced horseman out of any of them. Often, they had to be careful of leaving him behind, and if Lance hadn't been sure the sharp-eyed physician-in-training would notice he was wounded, he would have fallen back to ride beside him.

"Those bastards," Leon cursed, surprising words out of the usually mild-mannered and diplomatic man. Lancelot looked up to find the source of his anger. It wasn't hard to spot. The brigands had destroyed the bridge going over the river.

"At least they weren't waiting to ambush us on the bridge," Merlin replied optimistically. There were a few nods and shrugs as they all grudgingly admitted that was true. The water was also low, as the rains hadn't yet come this fall. It would be cold though, if they had to ford it. There wasn't another bridge for miles and miles.

"The river widens not far downstream," Elyan pointed out. "It'll be shallow there and we should be able to cross."

Arthur nodded decisively by way of reply and the group began to pick their way carefully through tree roots along the shore. They had to go slowly, as the deer path they followed was hardly wide or tall enough for a horse and rider and for much of it they had to bend low over their horses' necks. Vision impaired in that way, they nearly missed the trail branching off down towards the water. Arthur went first, which Lancelot questioned the wisdom of but didn't put voice to his concerns, followed by Gwaine. The knight's horse seemed to slide and buck under him and he jumped out of the saddle to guide it across. The water came up to about his stomach.

"There's some loose shale here," he called back. With that warning, the rest of the group dismounted before guiding their horses down into the river. They would be wet for the rest of the ride but it was better than risking their horses bucking them and ending up entirely soaked. The water was indeed freezing and Lancelot couldn't suppress a sharp gasp when it soaked through his shirt to his wound. At least this way, nobody would notice the growing wet patch on his side. The bank was steeper on the other side and he found himself relying on his horse to pull him up it. He leaned against her broad flank for a long moment, eyes closed, before movement beside him startled him aware again.

"You alright?" Percival asked, his usually booming voice as quiet as the large man could manage. He must've noticed his friend's apparent exhaustion.

"Yeah, fine." Lancelot forced a weary smile onto his face. "Just tired. The comedown from battle energy always hits me hard. It's nothing," he insisted when the other knight gave him a dubious look. Thankfully, he moved on to follow Arthur and didn't see the wince that split Lance's features as he hauled himself up into the saddle. Now, even if he thought the others wouldn't leave him behind, he couldn't stop. With wet clothes and the sun steadily sinking, he would freeze to death. The only option was to keep riding.

Relieved to have the river behind them, the broken bridge serving as the same barrier to the bandits as it had to the knights, they began to chat and even laugh jovially, even as they kept a close eye on the forest to either side of the road. Gwaine led the merry making, of course, while at the head of the party Leon and Arthur talked quietly. They were probably theorizing about the identity of the spy within the palace. Lancelot, for his part, suspected an anonymous servant they would likely never see again. It wasn't any secret that the Crown Prince still went out on patrol with his knights. The more concerning question was how they had gathered so many bandits and brigands together, so near to Camelot, with so little warning.

"Brrrrrrr," Gwaine said with a shiver, pulling his cloak tighter around himself as they entered a darker patch of forest and left behind the meager warmth of the fading sun. Lancelot noticed that the bottom half of his cloak was wet like his, while those of the others were dry. They'd taken them off and held them above the water as they'd forded the river, he realized sullenly, where Gwaine hadn't had the chance and he hadn't had the sense to do so. It was too bad; he wished he had something warm and dry to wrap around his legs. He didn't shiver like the others, which he vaguely recognized to be a bad sign.bad sign.

“It sits wrong, running away from bandits,” Elyan remarked. Lance was vaguely aware that this was several minutes after Gwaine had last spoken, but he couldn’t recall when or if the conversation had shifted.

“We would have been over run in seconds,” Merlin retorted. “And I, unlike you knights, it seems, don’t have a death wish.” Lance smiled to himself. If any of them took foolish risks, it was the sorcerer who lived in the center of a kingdom where magic was banned.

“It doesn’t serve the people for us to get ourselves killed,” Leon agreed sensibly. “Better for us to come back with reinforcements and… protect.... peasants… burned farms… terrorizing…”

Lancelot shivered despite himself as the words brought memories of his traumatic childhood to the surface of his addled brain. He realized he’d been either dozing off or zoning out, only half listening to his fellow knights. Thankfully, his mare had known to follow along without him guiding her, though she had drifted to the back of the group. He forced himself upright, surprised by the lack of pain at the movement, and shook his head to clear it. One advantage of the cold water is that it had at least numbed the pain of his wound. The problem now was the heavy weariness dragging at his limbs. It wasn’t much farther to Camelot; he just had to remain in the saddle a little longer. He thought about asking Merlin to ride double with him, but his poor horse seemed as tired as he was and he didn’t want to burden her with two riders.

Finally, Camelot loomed on the horizon. The rest of the knights, clearly encouraged by the sight, broke into a canter for the last stretch, only slowing as they passed through the city gates. Lancelot felt the time and scenery pass in a blur until they finally stopped moving and he closed his eyes in an effort to prevent his long-passed lunch from making a reappearance.

“You waiting for something?” A vaguelly mocking voice called, which he recognized as Arthur’s. The Prince tended to fall back on boyish ways when he was stressed, Lancelot knew, so he didn’t hold the jeering tone against him. He opened his eyes to find himself near the main entrance of the castle, a stableboy holding the reins of his horse. The other knights had already dismounted and were standing a short distance away. He must’ve looked disoriented, as Arthur waved a hand at him. “You don’t need a signal to dismount, you know.”

“Sorry,” Lancelot replied, the only thing he could think of, as he swung a leg over the back of his horse. Between the pain suddenly flaring up his side and the lightheadedness, he barely felt his other knee buckling in the stirrup. Next thing he knew he was laid out on the cobblestones, half-cradled in what felt like someone’s lap.

“Merlin!” a strong voice called, and he realized it was Percival holding him. The knight must’ve jumped forward to catch him; otherwise, his head would be cracked open on the rock pavement.

“What happened?”

“Is he injured?”

“Why didn’t he-”

The concerned voices of the knights swirled around him until a skinny servant broke through and made them all step back and shut up. Lance couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, which quickly turned into a hiss of pain as it tugged on the wound on his side. His hand yerked down to the injury, which Merlin quickly focussed in on.

“Let me see,” he demanded gently, pulling back the knight’s split mail and undershirt. He winced in apparent sympathy when he saw the wound, which was something Lance had never seen in most medics. In the mercenary armies he’d fought in, the physicians had been ruthless, almost cruel men who could lob off a man’s infected arm with a smile on their face or no expression at all. “I’ll need to clean it before I can tell the extent of the damage. At the very least, he’s lost a lot of blood. Percival, carry him up to Gaius’s chambers.”

“It’s okay, I can walk there myse-”

“Lance, you can’t even stand,” Merlin objected and then the injured knight’s stomach was rolling again as his large friend lifted him up, cradled against his broad chest like a child. He knew that was wrong, somehow, that at best he should only expect someone to help him to his feet and shove him towards the medical tent, but it didn’t feel wrong.

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing through the renewed pain, but he must've passed out despite it, as he woke up to the feeling of a needle being pulled through his skin. He forced himself to stay still and not scream, as an irate medic might tie him down and gag him if he did, but he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him. Instantly the string tugging on his skin stopped and a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Easy, Lancelot," Merlin soothed. Gaius passed him a cup and he moved the hand to below his friend's neck to help him lean up a little. "For the pain," he explained, bringing it to Lance's lips. He sipped it hesitantly, wondering if it would taste as bad as Merlin's other concoctions. Pain draughts had to be bought, back in the armies he'd served with, and he'd never had enough coin. This one was sweetened with honey.

"Thank you," he breathed when the cup was taken away. The pain hadn't instantly disappeared, but Gaius waited until the wound was partially numb before continuing the stitches. After all, he hadn't bled out in two hours of hard riding, so they could be reasonably certain he wouldn't die if they waited another few minutes to finish his stitches. Lancelot closed his eyes again. He was on a soft cot, divested of his chainmail and soaked clothing. A blanket covered his legs and his proximity to the fire kept his bare torso warm. This was a far cry from the field hospitals he'd suffered in before. Gaius finished the stitching quickly and tied it off before bandaging the wound.

“Anything else hurt?” Merlin asked, in a sharp tone usually reserved for berating Arthur. “Your head, maybe? I can’t think of another reason why you would hide an injury from us for hours.”

“No, I’m okay,” Lancelot replied. His friend laughed bitterly. That was wrong; Merlin’s laughs were supposed to be light and full of joy, not judgement.

“You seem to have a funny definition of okay,” he retorted. “Percy says you told him the same thing when you were actively bleeding and could barely manage to mount your horse.”

“What was I supposed to do, get her to lie down and climb on that way?” He would have, if he had been alone and it had been the only option.

“You’re supposed to ask for help!” Merlin near-shouted. “Not to hide your injuries until you can’t any longer!” Gaius shot his assistant a sharp look, probably some silent communication to let the patient rest instead of shouting at him, and he took a few deep breaths before continuing. “Just help me understand why you did it, so I can stop it from happening in the future. Did you think we would blame you if we knew? Or that we wouldn’t care or stop to help?”

He sounded hurt, and unable to bear that tone from his best friend, Lance fought to find an acceptable answer. Much of his own thinking since the fight was a blur; he remembered the need for secrecy but not any thoughts about his friends and what they would really do if they found out he was injured.

"It wasn't about you," he said softly. "Merlin, I trust you with my life. But I'm not… I'm not used to that. To having friends. I'm used to being a traveler and a mercenary, and in that life, I would have been left behind if I couldn't ride. I think that when I was injured, I just… slipped into that survival mindset. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would have gotten you to at least bind the wound once we'd gotten away, but as it was, I didn't want to show weakness that might have been preyed upon."

Lancelot watched as understanding gradually settled over his friend’s face and felt relief settle in himself. His friends were not mercenaries, though he knew several had done that work as well. They would not have left him, just as he would not have left them had their places been reversed. They also needed to know that he trusted them. Loyalty was a better force than coin for holding soldiers together.

"What can I do so that you aren't afraid to tell us next time you're hurt?" Merlin asked gently. The judgement was gone from his voice, replaced with sympathy.

"I don't know," Lancelot sighed. "I don't know if there's anything you can do about it. I think I just need some time to adjust to being surrounded by friends instead of opportunistic enemies. Seems like going that direction should be easier than it is... But I'll be okay."

"Alright. Let me know if there is some way I can help,” Merlin said. “Arthur and the others have been asking about you. What do you want me to tell them?”

Lancelot winced. He couldn’t let them think he didn’t trust his fellow soldiers, which was what they would assume if they learned he deliberately hid the injury. Those who had also been mercenaries might understand, but it would take some explanation and even then, there was a better than even chance of them not getting it. None of them seemed to be having similar problems adjusting. Even Gwaine, who Merlin said was initially was opposed to becoming a knight, acted now like he was born to the role.

“We can tell them you didn’t notice it,” Merlin suggested softly. “The excitement of battle and then the cold water numbed it.” The wounded knight was tempted to agree to the story, as it would save him the awkward truth, but he hated the idea of lying to his friends and it would only make them worry more if they thought he could not accurately assess his own injuries. They would check him over after every minor skirmish.

“No. I’ll tell them the truth,” he sighed, struggling to push himself up to sitting.

“Easy, Lance.” Merlin pressed him back against the cot by the shoulder. “You need rest. I can tell them, or it can wait ‘til tomorrow if you want to do it yourself.” Lancelot had never considered himself a coward, but right now the idea of facing Arthur, who would probably be at least as angry as Merlin had been, and the others seemed far too exhausting. Merlin was right; he did need some proper sleep. Passing out briefly didn’t count.

“They’ll worry if we wait, won’t they?” Merlin smiled knowingly at him as he stood up and patted his shoulder as he walked for the door.

“You know Arthur; absolute worry-wart that one is,” he joked. “I’ll explain it to them, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Merls.” The door closed after the servant and the only noise left was Gaius puttering around quietly. Lancelot pulled the blanket folded over his legs up to cover his torso and soon fell asleep to the sound of the crackling fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter, as I don't think the atmosphere is quite right, but here it is anyway.

Merlin found Leon and Arthur in the council chambers, planning how to engage the bandit army the next day, this time with reinforcements of their own. Both looked weary and as their plans seemed to be mostly decided, they should have been resting to prepare for an early departure. Despite his jest to Lancelot, Merlin knew Arthur really wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew his knight was recovering.

“How is he?” the prince asked, worry clear in his tone despite his obvious attempt to appear impassive.

“Recovering. The wound was deep and he lost a lot of blood, but the knife only went through muscle and missed everything vital.”

“He couldn’t have known that,” Arthur hissed angrily. “If he was wounded any worse, he would have died without treatment. Why didn’t he say anything?” Both he and Leon looked at Merlin expectantly. The servant licked his lips nervously.

“Lancelot fights for Camelot because he believes in you, Arthur,” he started.

“So?” the prince asked impatiently. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Let me finish. He trusts you and believes in you, but that hasn’t always been the case with his commanders. He was a mercenary for a long time before coming here. Sometimes, I think, he forgets that you’re different and look on injured soldiers as more than a lost investment. He didn’t think we would stop and take the time to tend to his wound, not when the bandits were still after us, so he just… kept going.”

“Even when he was in pain,” Leon added sadly. Merlin nodded.

“He thinks I wouldn’t care?” Arthur asked. He sounded devastated.

“He knows you do,” Merlin countered vehemently. “He just hasn’t internalized that fact yet. I don’t think he has had anyone looking out for him since his family was killed. Learning to trust people after so many years will take some time.”

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “I’ll have to go talk to him when we get back tomorrow. Will he be up for visitors by then?” Merlin nodded. “Thank you for informing us of his condition.” Though he recognized this as a dismissal, the servant lingered. “What?” Arthur snapped.

“Do you know where the other knights might be?”

“They’re down in the tavern,” Leon informed him. The servant nodded and took his leave, going off to find his other friends. They were indeed sequestered within their favorite tavern, but much more subdued than usual. Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine all sat around a table, nursing their ales. They were in the middle of the room, but the somber expressions on their faces said they were in their own little world. Merlin caught a barmaid glancing over at them in apparent concern at how quiet they were. None of them looked up until he sat down across from them.

  
  


“Is Lance-” Percival asked immediately, but he cut himself off before finishing his thought.

“He’s okay. He’d be a helluva lot worse off if you hadn’t caught him,” Merlin reassured the him. The knight didn’t seem soothed by this, however.

“I saw something was wrong,” he said. “I just didn’t think Lancelot would hide an injury that bad.”

“What was he thinking?” Elyan agreed.

“I don’t think he was,” Merlin said, and at their confused looks, explained what Lancelot told him. 

“It’s not us, it’s him,” Gwaine paraphrased, less cruelly than he might have. He downed the rest of his bear but waved off the barmaid when she offered him another.

“I don’t get it,” Elyan said. “He was hurt when we took the castle back from the immortal army, but he didn’t hide it then, and that was right after when we were knighted.”

“It could be that I saw him get hurt, so he knew he couldn’t hide it. It was also just me there, and it was a lot worse than this time.” Merlin shrugged. “He said it isn’t rational. Any number of factors could make the difference between this time and that one.” The three knights were all silent for a minute, processing. It was unnatural, especially when they were surrounded by the typical hustle and bustle of the tavern.

“If he ever does it again, I’ll hurt him worse than he already was,” Gwaine said, calling the barmaid over for another ale. 

“That seems a little counterproductive for making him trust you,” Merlin pointed out, but he was smiling. Gwaine was joking, obviously. Hopefully. The man had been a mercenary as well, and a more enthusiastic one than Lance, but now he was fiercely protective of his friends. He’d kill anyone that hurt them; time would tell whether that included themselves.

“Think he will? Do it again, I mean,” Elyan asked.

"Maybe. I think it's our responsibility not to let him." Percival nodded, looking sure of himself once again, and Merlin knew he was glad to have been given a way to help. The knight would do his best, as always, to prevent his friends from being hurt, but now he would also keep a close eye on them after he thought the danger was passed. “Meanwhile, keep Gwaine from drinking too much,” he said as he stood up. “Remember you’re all hunting down the bandits tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying?” the knight in question asked, using that pleading voice that he was still convinced worked when, in fact, Merlin was immune to such things after so long serving Arthur.

“I should get back to Lance,” he said, shaking his head. He took his leave of the tavern and made his way back towards the castle. Lancelot would want to hear that while his friends were annoyed with him, it was born of love, and that ultimately, they understood.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are the only thing keeping me motivated to write these days, so please leave one if you've got a minute. I'm thinking of writing a second chapter about Merlin explaining it to Arthur and the other knights, so tell me if that's something you'd be interested in.


End file.
